


Stiles the Vampire (and generally all things that go bump in the night) Slayer

by orphan_account



Series: One Boy In All The World [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst, BAMF Stiles, Derek Uses His Words, M/M, Slayer!Stiles, Stiles doesn't really need a BAMF tag because he already is one, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Except for good-looking psychotic leather jacket wearing werewolves. </p><p>---</p><p>“Aren’t you meant to be a girl?” </p><p>“Okay,” Stiles snaps because Jesus it’s the first question on the lips of every vampire crawling out of their fresh grave and demons catching their breath for small talk in-between their awesome showdowns. “The prophecy was written by a bunch of senile old men who fucked up on the pronouns.”  </p><p>---</p><p>Buffy AU with Stiles as the slayer and Derek as his Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles the Vampire (and generally all things that go bump in the night) Slayer

Unsurprisingly the small town of Beacon Hills only has one grave yard so Stiles spends most of his time patrolling the woods because for some reason creatures of the night are either attracted to the cold, wet and dark or stingy clubs packed with adolescents.

 

But mostly when Stiles isn’t trying to squeeze out every ounce of a normal life he can have with being both best friend to a werewolf and occasional ally to another when he isn’t punching Derek in the face, Stiles is out here hunting all manner of creatures. 

 

He takes out a pack of vamps looking for a quick meal on the highway. The first two go down easy with a stake to the heart, but the third catches him by the arm managing to throw him back onto the tarmac, kicking his stake into the bushes. The annoying voice of Deaton pops into his head spurting out knowledge of slaying guidelines and ethics (you’d think ethics and slaying was kind of an oxymoron), as it always seems to at moments like this. _Always be prepared_ _Stiles_ like a fucking boy scout Jesus. _Always know the next move, always keep control._

 

Right now Deaton’s Obi Wan words of wisdom are the furthest thing from his mind as he lies on the concrete road severely pissed off. Stiles kicks up from his back to his feet a year ago he’d be whooping with the badassery of the move, right now all he wants to do is kick this bloodsuckers ass.          

  

Deaton would have said Stiles relies too much on his emotions like he’s meant to be a Jedi or something, and as much as Stiles hates Deaton’s copy of: How To Be A Slayer: The Watcher’s guide to raising your teenage charge, this is the man who cared for a beaten and bloody Stiles when he had his first run in with a particular demon who’s skin resembled a rock slide. He’s the one who took a fifteen year old Stiles into the woods one day – though why Stiles was following him when the man could have easily been an insane serial killer with the only logic of Oh, well, he is Scott’s boss certainly wasn’t his finest moment – to only have the man throw a knife at his face. Stiles had caught it without evening flinching and stared at man in shock and bewilderment. Deaton had been the one to show the correct side of the heart to him, he’d been there at Stiles’s first vampire slay at the hands of his number two pencil.

 

But in those first few months Stiles could have really used someone other than his forty-year-old watcher. Someone like his best friend.  

 

Deaton had already given him the if the people you care about find out about you being the slayer they will be in grave danger yada yada several times now, and Stiles really wasn’t up to hearing the speech for the third time this month because there’s only so many times that Stiles can cover up his zoning out without Deaton noticing.

 

Stiles shoves the third and final vampire up against a tree where a well strategically placed branch pierces its heart.  

 

It’s late Stiles thinks as he glances at his watch to see it reading 01:47. There is still adrenaline running through his veins and he could go for a another slay but he has a chem test to do and he hasn’t done an ounce of studying and it’s not like he can bring his car, his dad doesn’t even know he’s out at this time and of course knows nothing about him being the chosen one, emphasis on _one_ as always. 

 

Up in the distance Stiles spots the bright headlights of a car and he can hear the reeve of the engine. Self-consciously he pulls his black woolly hat further down his forehead, burying his hands in his hoodie pockets. If it turns out to be one of the sheriff’s men he’s screwed. He briefly thinks of fleeing into the woods but it’s too dangerous with all the hunter traps that have been set.

 

He ops for keeping his cool, keeping his head down and eyes low. Honestly he couldn’t care less if it was some mad serial killer or rapist that he can handle. A father in a fury is defiantly worth at least a nest of vengeful vampires.

 

But it turns out to be none of these things. And yes, it is something unaccounted for and much, much worse.

 

He’s pretty sure Derek would be smirking if he didn’t have the emotional range of a brick wall. Right now he’s looking – glaring – at Stiles like he just trumped across his newly mowed lawn, though Derek would be unlikely to give a fuck about those things, he’s also looking slightly exasperated but go figure.

 

His eyes survey the surroundings spotting at least two piles of ash. When he looks back at Stiles he seems a little less impatient and Stiles would like to think of that as him being impressed.

 

“You have a curfew at midnight.”

 

And of course the creepy fucker knows that and makes every question sound like a goddamn demand for information or a clear-cut statement.               

 

Stiles worked out long ago that the best way to deal with Derek is to give direct one-worded answers so as to waste little time and energy on the guy.

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s almost 2am.”

 

And he can tell the time ladies and gentlemen. “Correct.”

 

Derek looks like he’s about to sigh but like Stiles said Derek’s emotional capacity equals that of a wall. “Get in the car Stiles.” Derek commands all I’m the Alpha because he is and Stiles is still royally pissed about that, Derek’s selfishness took away probably the only chance his best friend had at a normal life.

(And yeah maybe that’s a bit too close to home for him because after the novelty of being a Slayer, with super strength, speed, enhanced agility and healing wears off, you realize that you are _The_ Slayer as in the only one. Stiles can’t help but envy Scott for at least having people around him that are also werewolves, others like him, a pack whether he likes it or not even though all of them have questionable morals and Stiles still struggles with the day to day conflict of cutting them with his axe but at least Scott isn’t alone.)

 

But there’s the option of a forty-minute walk or a twenty-minute, scratch that ten minute with the way Derek drives, car ride with an ass. Honestly Stiles doesn’t know which will be more painful.

 

Derek leans over and opens the passenger door communicating his impenitentness for once without growling.

 

“Fine.” Stiles grinds out through his teeth.

 

Derek doesn’t seem to care much about a slightly soggy Stiles on his leather seats. The warmth of the car is a blessing compared to the outside, and Stiles has to catch himself from almost falling asleep. His trousers are sticking to his legs and he doesn’t know what it is about slaying and tight pants but it seems to be all he wears.

 

As much as Stiles would have loved it for Scott to be the first one to find out about his super secret identity it was in fact Derek. It been the night after Scott had gotten bit and Stiles had already told Deaton of his suspicions that a new werewolf was on the prowl.

 

Deaton hadn’t been too eager for him to go out patrolling at least not without a badass crossbow to help him out. After Stiles’s first kill that night with a rampant vampire with an impressive set of muscles that would have defiantly given Stiles a few bruised ribs, luckily his crossbow had turned the bloodsucking motherfucker to dust in a second. He calls it Vera after that.

 

He circled back to the forest near the Hale residence in search of the body. At least he can confirm his suspicions so he’ll have an idea what he’s dealing with.

 

He’d been searching for any signs of werewolf activity when he heard a sudden screech and saw a female vampire – growly face and all – running towards him no not towards him she didn’t even seem to notice him, she looked too busy fleeing for her life.  

 

The bloodsucker is running at such speed that she doesn’t notice Stiles tripping her up with a wide sweep of his leg.  

 

“You know bad things happen to vampires who wander the woods alone.” He tells her Vera slung over his shoulder, hand on his hip standing over her.

 

He takes in the alarming salmon pink dress now covered in dirt and mud and the one remaining shoe to match, high heel snapped off and dragging. No way someone would be caught dead in that thing yet here she is and she growls at him as if hearing his thoughts, and really he has to remind Deaton to include his own choice of burial clothing in his funeral plan.

 

_Here be Stiles, he kicked a lot of ass._

_(In your face Jackson)_

 

“Since you’re obviously new to this I’ll go easy on you.” Stiles says backing up dumping Vera on the ground getting into his Charlie’s angels stance waiting for Growly to get up. She snarls which even with her growl face on makes her look even more ugly.   

 

She throws herself at him (it’s sad that the only time a woman has done so it’s been a creature of the undead that wants to kill him) faster than any human but slow for older vampire. _Amateur_ Stiles thinks as he moves out of her way smirking as he watches her stumble.

 

“Cold.” He says she has her fist cocked running towards him, the punch is too far left and the next one is aimed lower for his side but he dodges and continues to do so when she tries to land a few more punches and swipes like he’s out of the fucking Matrix.

 

One of her fists ghosts past his cheek, “Ah, you’re getting warmer.”

 

The next lands on his collarbone. Not cool.

 

“Boiling!” He exclaims though it isn’t that painful, Stiles has faced worse in his pain management.  

 

She looks satisfied for a second before he punches her in the face. He’s satisfied with the feeling of bone cracking underneath his knuckles, and she blinks like she’s whited-out for a few seconds, can Vampire’s get concussions? He makes a note to ask Deaton later. 

 

This is what he loves about slaying the physical side; he does love the feeling of saving an innocent, occasionally saving Beacon Hills and the rest of world from a demon cult, but what really gets him is the feeling of adrenaline while he fires out those punches and kicks, blocks them, does the well coordinated flips and drives he’d been doing since he was five when his mum promised him – yes Stiles boys can do gymnastics too – it’s the feeling of staking the vampire or beheading the demon and some would call it a crazy lust for blood or violence or the need to kill. But for Stiles it’s different as the slayer in that moment, in heat of the fight he feels closer to his true nature, to learning who and what he really is, pure instinct, what he was made for, whatever it is deep inside him that makes him this, no watchers handbook or good versus evil feud.

 

He kicks her in the stomach so she’s doubling over with the pain and when she comes back up he punches her, fist angled up definitely breaking her nose this time.

 

He see’s his opening when her arms are thrown up with the impact. He grabs the stake stuffed in his back pocket, thrusting it into her heart. She has a split second of _oh fuck_ , before she’s turned to dust.

      

Stiles’s breathes out his hearting pounding as he stuffs the stake back into his pocket.

 

“Aren’t you meant to have a punch line every time you do that.”

 

Stiles snaps round already in position assessing his surroundings. It’s dark in the forest with a slight opening in-between the thinner trees where the moon shines through. If Stiles didn’t have his Slayer enhanced abilities he’d be fighting blind. Luckily being able to see in the dark far better than any human comes into the slayer package deal. So Stiles can make the outline of a taller man, medium build but certainly far bigger than Stiles but that’s never held him back before.

 

When he does step into the light Stiles recognises the leather-cladded, stubbled whole bad boy fast cars and motorbikes image from earlier as Derek Hale. 

 

Nerveless Stiles flexes his fingers.

 

Hale’s eyes flicker down catching the movement but when they meet Stiles’s again the fucker doesn’t give an inch.       

 

“I don’t know I’ve kicked so much demon ass lately I must have ran out.” Stiles begins to pace it appears slow and casual (unnerving to some) but inside Stiles’s head he’s flying through possible strategies and locating weapons (Deaton would be so proud).     

 

Hale’s eye follow Stiles and unsurprisingly Stiles’s movements have no affect on him, in fact he doesn’t seem nervous at all that he’s ran into the Slayer. “You pack a lot of wallop for a kid of your size.”

 

“Thanks, care to step up for a free sample.” He’s still trying to work out what Hale is. Even with the impressive teeth and leather jacket this guy isn’t a vampire because Stiles’s spidey senses aren’t tingling. Usually when they approach him for a confirmation they’re either doing a Transylvanian accent or a Tom Cruise impression (though Stiles must admit Hale’s got the whole creep, broody, slightly constipated Edward Cullen look down). He’s too slick for a Demon, no obvious weapons on him so he’s not an envious hunter. That could only leave one other possibility and with all the attacks and bodies turning up when Derek Hale showed up it would make sense.     

 

Derek breaks through Stiles’s thoughts. “Aren’t you meant to be a girl?”

 

“Okay,” Stiles snaps because Jesus it’s the first question on the lips of every vampire crawling out of their fresh grave and demons catching their breath for small talk in-between their awesome showdowns. “The prophecy was written by a bunch of senile old men who fucked up on the pronouns.” 

 

Derek continues to survey him with the same stoic expression only giving the tiniest quirk of the eyebrow. In the coming months Stiles will realise that this is Derek’s unimpressed look but to be honest it looks the same as all the others. Unless you count his creep psycho killer smile that doesn’t come till later when he’s all alpha and beating Scott up on an ice rink, but the smile is a very rare occurrence in itself.     

 

Fuck this shit.

 

Stiles spinning fast building up momentum for a punch, Stiles’s fist is about to come into contact with Derek’s cheek only for his wrist to be grabbed as if Stiles was throwing a fucking pillow. Derek is strong, only slightly stronger than Stiles mostly because Stiles is packing slayer strength and not a lot of muscles not that he needs them to floor a guy and he can feel his bones scream in protest as Derek angles his hand away but still keeping it in an iron grip. Stiles doesn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him in pain just bites his tongue and concentrates on keeping his heartbeat the same. 

 

Derek continues to observe Stiles as if he didn’t just throw a right hook at him. “I really wouldn’t get on my bad side if I were you.” Stiles says voice low and threatening.

 

Again Derek shows no sign of hearing Stiles but when he squeezes his wrist it only flares Stiles’s anger.

 

Stiles only just realises how close they are, they’re practical sharing air, and the only thing between them is Stiles’s wrist locked in Derek’s grip. And for but a moment all Stiles’s can hear is his own breathing as he looks into piercing green eyes.  

 

The moment is broken and Stiles wrenches his wrist free, his other hand coming up to shove Derek back. Derek growls and Stiles rolls grabbing Vera firing an arrow directly at Derek’s heart.

 

It would have hit his target if Derek hadn’t caught the thing in mid-air. Stiles only has a moment to feel frustrated before he’s moving forward elbow ready to collide with Derek’s sour expression and hopefully dislocate his jaw. 

 

It doesn’t have the effect Stiles desired because instead Derek’s face is shifted, snapping back up fangs snarling at him, blue eyes blazing.

 

Stiles moves purely on instinct, thrusting the arrow Derek is still holing into his chest, surprising Derek and overcoming his strength.

 

Derek roars more in anger than pain.

 

He shoves Stiles back and he hits a tree, crying out as his back comes into contact with the rough bark. Derek is a yard away and is attempting to remove the arrow but it does give Stiles a few seconds to make an escape.

 

He’d have to be insane to think he could go up against a werewolf without the proper weapons. Werewolves are tricky they are faster than any demon or vampire and quite a bit stronger not to mention the healing thing if Stiles were to go up against one he’d need weapons and if Derek turns out to be a full Alpha he’s fucked.

 

 _I’m sixteen_ he’d told Deaton once; _I’m too young to die._    

 

He spits out blood before giving Derek a salute. “See you around Sourwolf.” Then he takes off on a run. Strangely Derek never gave chase.

 

It was only the next day when he’d been confronted with another werewolf – this one turning out to be his best friend – in the boy’s locker room that he really lost his shit. Seriously, if Scott expected him to run away and squeal like some horror movie teenager stereotype he had another thing coming. So when Scott pounced in front of Stiles snarling at him all wolfed out. Instead of going for a suitable weapon like the fire extinguisher Stiles promptly rolled his eyes, cocked back his fist and punched Scott in the face.

 

Scott fell back on his ass, head colliding with the hard title floor completely out for the count.

 

Really Stiles had enough of fucking werewolves for one day.

 

Scott had about two hours to be pissed to _dude what the hell how can you punch so hard?_ And Stiles had replied _Dude I’m the Slayer_. Of course then Scott had a hissy fit about Stiles lying to him for so long that lasted about 15 minutes then Scott realised he was in deep shit and needed Stiles’s help cause he’s pretty sure he can’t knock him out every time he wolfs out, even werewolves couldn’t survive the constant head trauma. But Scott seems to be more worried about his relationship with Allison than brain damage.   

 

Enter werewolves being new additions to Stiles’s slayer (and to his horror his personal) life.

 

But the only thing more annoying than werewolves and yes, Derek Hale are hunters.

 

A bunch of wanna be Slayers.

 

Deaton had been the one to warn him when the hunters came to town that they’d act straight away when they got wind of pack activity. For Scott and Derek that meant wolfsbane bullets and arrow wounds for Stiles that meant disrupted patrols and hunter traps.

 

He really should have seen this coming three weeks after the Argents came to town Stiles could only avoid getting caught for so long. So when he’d been chasing down a particular vamp instead of catching the sucker he ended upside down hanging from a rope.

 

The painful training sessions that Deaton puts him through five times a week finally paid off when Stiles had push himself up so he could cut through the rope round his ankles with his handy Swiss army knife. By the time he got through the rope his abdomen and thigh muscles were screaming in protest. When he lands on the leafy ground he decides he’s going to call it quits and get some much need rest before he needs get up in seven hours for school.

 

He debates just lying there on ground and wait for dawn but an abrupt sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts his self-pity session. 

 

At first he thinks its Derek finally taking the stick out his ass and coming to thank him for saving his life (again) for the wolfsbane bullet. No such luck it turns out to be Mr Argent and his merry band of men, with a new addition of a woman, quite pretty with light brown wavy hair and a permanent wicked smirk on her face her whole body radiating self-confidence. If he didn’t know better he’d think a slayer was standing in front of him. But when he looks closer he sees something cruel and malicious in her eyes, something unhinged about the way she holds herself. No Stiles thinks this woman could never be worthy of what he has.

 

They don’t offer to help him up so Stiles does so slowly because two guys behind him have guns trained on him no doubt loaded with wolfsbane bullets. Stiles is no werewolf but if he ends up getting shot there would be no super healing for him, even if he did get nicked it take a few days for him to heal.

 

“Looks like I’m not the only one who thought a midnight stroll in the woods would be a great idea.” He says dusting off his jeans. The two guys behind him still have their guns pointing at him and Stiles really doesn’t like guns, he tries to avoid the weapon at all times. It feels to close to a hunter which Stiles is not he’s much higher class and much more resourceful.

 

“Stiles right?” Mr Argent says managing to look unimpressed and have a smirk on his face twin to the woman’s. So she must be Kate Argent the one who’s been giving them problems. “What are you doing out so late?”

 

“Well you see,” Stiles says glancing around at the other guys that have circled him none of them without a gun. “I just thought a walk in the woods would be a good thing and very therapeutic you know to escape, from all that… teen angst? Er,” He stops. “Honestly I would have come up with a better excuse if I knew I was going to have company.”

 

“Is that so.” Mr Argent says unlike the others his gun is in his belt like Kate’s, her arms are crossed and she looks just as unimpressed but there is a sort of creepy hunger in her eyes like she wants to whip out her gun and start firing. “I’m sure you know about all those animal attacks, you wouldn’t want to add your own body to the count.” Mr Argent’s eyes are staring Stiles down trying to make him break. Luckily Stiles has spent a lot of his time with Derek Hale the King of unwavering and terrifying stares.

 

“I can handle myself thanks.”

 

At the words he feels the whole group around him stiffen.

 

Great now they all think he’s a werewolf, what idiots. Seriously do these guys think that’s all there is. A bunch of werewolf racists in his opinion. 

 

“Look,” Stiles says raising his hands. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

 

Kate is the one to step forward looking ready to pounce. “Then what are you?”

 

Right, he set himself up for that one he supposes.

 

“Okay I can-“ He’s about too kindly and delicately explain to them how he’s the one girl in all the world but the guys around him are making him feel uneasy. “Jeez seriously can you lower the weapons as if I’m not on edge already.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Mr Argent says but he looks unsure, like he’s expecting Stiles to grow teeth and claws.

 

Kate is the one to speak, leaning towards Mr Argent but keeping her eyes on Stiles. “Chris, he doesn’t look like one.”

 

Mr Argent is fighting to keep his game face on and not look bewildered. “I guess your right.”

 

Kate relaxes and puts her gun back in her belt. “Another bust, maybe I should take the lead because all you’ve lead us to is a kid armed with a letter opener.”

 

 _Bitch,_ Stiles thinks. “Okay; one not a kid, two this is Swiss army knife, like one that actual came from Switzerland as an oppose to the ones they sell in town for two dollars and three,” At the feel of slight pressure of a gun barrel being poked into his back, it’s enough to make him act on reflex, reaching round to grab the gun with both hands and thrusting it into the guy’s stomach. The other looks far too trigger-happy so Stiles uses the heavy handle of the shotgun as a club swinging it back and knocking the man out.

 

When he turns both Argents have their guns out and raised again, they look ready to fire if Stiles so much as twitches. They’re Hunters, they have rules and regulations but Stiles is a slayer he doesn’t have any rules.

 

Stiles pumps the shotgun and the hunters around him flinch at the sound. He unloads the bullets before chucking the weapon off into the darkness of the forest.  “I really don’t like it when people point guns at me.”

 

“Easy.” Mr Argent says around him but he looks like he’d happily shoot Stiles if he made a move. “That’s very impressive, who trained you, your father?”

 

Stiles crosses his arms raising his chin all _bitch, please._ “My watcher.”

 

The reaction never gets old. The bulging eyes, the sudden pale skin, the mouth dropping open. “But you’re-“

 

“Yes I’m a guy can we move past it already.”

 

Kate looks severely pissed no longer smug and over-confident and she clearly is owning a green-eyed monster over there. “Prove it.”

 

Stiles snorts he doesn’t exactly have the Watcher’s council on speed dial to confirm and he doesn’t really trust any of these guys to throw a knife at him. “Okay sure, you volunteering for me to stake you then?”

 

Mr Argent is ignoring Kate instead he looks, well guilty and maybe a bit hopeful like he can get Stiles on their team. No way there will be no Batman and Catwoman team up here (And yes Stiles would be Catwoman in this analogy but only because of acrobatics). “If I knew Beacon Hills had a slayer-“

 

“What?” Stiles snaps getting impatient it’s their fault he lost a vamp anyway, the bloodsuckers probably out there feasting on some poor soul. “You wouldn’t have moved in as fast.”

 

Mr Argent face hardens and yeah Stiles is human and he does feel a bit bad for the guy cause he’s just doing what he thinks is right in his own fucked up way and yeah he’s trying to protect his daughter. But then Stiles thinks about Derek and what he’s lost and what he’s become and Stiles’s anger is back up in full flare. “We’ve been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you kid.”

 

Stiles laughs. “Yeah but you’re not the ones stuck with a big fat destiny.”

 

They’re not going to hurt him that he’s sure of. One he’s still a kid and two he’s protecting people not killing them and so far he’s just the slayer minding his own business with no beef with them. “I’d love to stay and chat,” Stiles says walking forward to push past them caring little about the guns still in their hands, “but there are lots of ghosts and ghouls running about and they’re not going any where. At least they would be if I didn’t have you guys messing up my groove.”  

 

He’s about to push past Mr Argent when the man grabs his arm and Stiles has to really fight down his instinct to shove the guy against a tree and hold his Swiss army knife to his throat. “You really don’t want to make an enemy of us.” His grip tightening and yeah he knows, because if Stiles was against Derek he wouldn’t turn down this opportunity. But he would never do that to Scott, he’s going to get the Alpha his own way with the help of his best friend, Deaton and yeah the good-looking psychotic leather jacket wearing wolf asshole to.

 

Stiles escapes from Mr Argent’s grip pretty easily and the man’s eyes darken with understanding. He’s taller than Stiles and certainly has a bigger build but Stiles faces up to him nonetheless. “I’ll take my chances.” And with that he storms off into the night.

 

He doesn’t really see them again till their confronting the alpha, and Stiles still feels the same anger toward Peter Hale that he did after talking to the man.

 

He’d just been helping Derek out and the guy had tried to slam Stiles’s face into the steering wheel key word being tried because the second Derek attempted to get a grip on Stiles’s neck he’d snapped his wrist. He hadn’t had as much luck with Peter. Even when he was on the lacrosse field and the alpha had Lydia in his clutches Stiles’s had been powerless to stop it. He’s an alpha and Stiles only had a stake in his jacket pocket and knife hidden somewhere on his person.

 

Stiles had little choice but to help him, he pretty much threatens everyone right to Stiles’s father and he knew Peter would go through with it. But that didn’t stop Stiles from getting a few punches in.

 

“I like you Stiles.” He said as he stood over him in the parking lot, Stiles ribs and back aching from Peter’s punches. “Since you’ve helped me I’m going to give you something in return.” He crouched down and Stiles flinches back still holding his bruised ribs. “Do you want the bite?”

 

Stiles had just stared at him shocked.

 

“Think about it,” Peter said cocking his head to the side regarding Stiles like he was some rare animal. “The power of both a Slayer and a werewolf, you’d be maybe even be stronger than an alpha.”

 

“I don’t want to be like you.” Stiles had said loudly. And Peter has watched him for a few moments, listening.

 

“No.” He says drawing the word out. “I think the real question is do you want to be what you are now?”

 

Peter snaps forward and Stiles closes his eyes turning his head away repulsed at the feeling of Peter’s breath on his cheek. “You hear that?” Peter asks, “When you’re knocking on death’s door your heart is beating like a humming bird trust me I know.” And oh god, then Peter is pressing his ear up against Stiles’s chest listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. “ _Thump-thump. Thump-thump._ ” He pulls back so Stiles can see his face. “Now what do you think that says?”

 

Stiles grasps at the stake in his back pocket, his skin digging into wood, waiting. “It’s the secret to every Slayer.” Peter whispers leaning forward.

 

Stiles takes the chance to plunge the stake into Peter’s chest, rolling away from his grasp. He’s back on his feet while Peter is taking the splintered wood out from his blood chest, which is already healing. “You slayers,” he laughs “always so resourceful.”

 

“Don’t pretend to think you know me.” Stiles fires back.

 

“Oh but I do know you.” Peter says chucking the stake away and it clatters and rolls to the far end of the parking lot. “I know you better than anyone, even yourself.”

 

It sounds like a cheesy line out of a Disney movie but at this point in time Stiles fails to see the humour in it. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”

 

“Even if you’re killed in the process.”

 

Its part of the job description Stiles wants to say but the words utterly fail him as the alpha beings to circle him.

 

“Even if you do survive this will you survive the next day or the next. Will you reach eighteen? Thirty? Will you make it through your life to settle down, have the American dream, watch your kids and grandkids grow? Will you ever live to grow old Stiles? It’s the same question you ask yourself every day. Is today the day I die?”

 

Peter stops and Stiles can hear his voice directly behind him. _Never turn your back on your opponent_ his inner Deaton tells him. “But you already know this.”

 

Suddenly Peter is right there his hand around his neck and Stiles’s grips him with both hands in an effort to stop his claws from digging in while his voice is in Stiles’s ear. “But the secret Stiles,” he hisses as Stiles’s struggles in his grip, Peter’s chest pressing against his back, his lips against his ear as Stiles fights down a choke, “the real big secret, is when finally the thing that slips into take your life, it’s not going to be about the punches you missed or the kicks you didn’t land. And when that time comes the final gasp, the look of peace, you, Stiles will want it.”  

 

Stiles’s grabs Peter’s free hand, cracking the bone and elbowing the man in the stomach, he may be Mr Invisible but Stiles is happy with him feeling the pain of his knee connecting with his groin.

 

Stiles can’t help it, while Peter is crouched on the floor still in pain, he kicks him hard in the stomach then grabs his head and slams his face into the stone floor. Peter laughs through blood, spiting out a tooth. “You get off on it.” And then he’s up in a flash punching Stiles hard. “Just like me.”          

 

Stiles has a moment to see stars then he’s spinning to kick Peter only for the alpha to block it. Luckily the distraction works and Stiles manages to get a grip on the knife he had hidden, slashing across Peter’s chest once then twice, tearing his shirt and cutting through flesh, before stabbing it into his neck jugular.

 

The blood is spurting over Stiles’s sleeves drying into his hand till it browns. Even though the wounds he’s made on Peter are already closing the blood stains stay and Stiles is satisfied with the memory. “You’re wrong, I’m nothing like you.”  

 

“No.” Peter says stretching his neck as the wound heals. “But when your curiosity gets the better of you, the longing to know what you truly are,” his eyes glow red. “You’ll realise that you’re no better than me.”

 

With Stiles’s dagger lying at his feet Peter kicks it across the Parking lot floor to him. “I enjoyed talking to you Stiles.” He says smirking leaving Stiles alone.

 

Stiles doesn’t know how long he stays there just breathing in and out. Soon the adrenaline starts to wear off and the pain in his ribs is starting to come back. He doesn’t leave till he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, probably Scott or Deaton. That can wait for now Stiles just let’s himself breath.

 

“Stiles.”

 

He starts.

 

There’s no parking lot or Peter Hale, no hunters or freaking traps. There is however Derek Hake beside him. Oh yeah, car, Derek was giving him a lift home. Jeez he promised himself he wouldn’t fall asleep no matter how cosy the car was and god help him he’s drooling. Stiles wishes that a hell dimension portal would suddenly appear and swallow him up.  

 

“Uh, thanks for the ride.” Stiles says still slightly disorientated. Derek just nods and staring at Stiles like he’s got something stuck between his teeth.

 

“Okay,” Stiles says awkwardly getting out of the car. He means to walk round and get to his house as fast as possible, where there is a nice warm bed only to walk into a leather muscular wall of Derek. As Derek stares down at him Stiles just blinks.

 

The cold affects him pretty quickly and then he’s shivering and wrapping his arms round himself like an absolute girl. “What do want a medal?” He snaps.

 

Derek surprises him by rolling his eyes and giving an annoyed huff then he’s taking off his leather jacket and handing it over to Stiles.

 

Stiles stares at it warily like he’s expecting a bomb to be hidden inside. “What are you doing?”

 

“You’re cold.” Derek states like that explains his behaviour. He moves forward slowly and then he’s draping his jacket over Stiles’s shoulders. And Stiles is holding his breath as he does it. Derek looks like he’s about leave but as Stiles weaves his arms through the sleeves the leather jacket is far too big for him that it’s kind of embarrassing, Derek glances and there’s something in his expression that looks satisfied.

 

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook you know.” Stiles says crossing his arms. “You beat up my best friend and you’re building an army of teenage werewolves, and you sent Erica to attempt to stop me from coming to kick your ass now that’s just insulting.”

 

Derek looks…amused. Okay what sorcery is this?

 

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

 

Stiles punches him in the face.  It’s a hard punch and Stiles can punch harder than any creature known to this earth maybe even Chuck Norris. “There we’re even.” He says while Derek blinks rapidly obviously trying to stop the flashing neon lights. “But you should know the second you and your pack do something I don’t like I’m going to be there to stop you.”

 

Derek’s eyes are slightly unfocused when he looks back at Stiles. “Are you threatening me Stiles?”

 

“I’m not a killer.” Stiles says thinking of Peter’s words.

 

“No,” Derek agrees for once. “You’re too good for that.”

 

It’s only then that Stiles realises that he’s stop shivering too busy flushed with heat that comes from Derek’s gaze. No one has ever described him like that not even Deaton. Maybe Derek understands without shoving the fact in his face. It’s like a silent understanding between them both. Derek may have a pack now but Stiles wonders if he ever stops feeling alone. Like Stiles he has his friends and family but he still feels alone. For one moment Stiles wants to reach out and take his hand to comfort not feed the same _you’re not alone_ bullshit, but just to grip tight and tell Derek the he knows.

 

Instead Stiles’s tights his grip around himself and looks away.

 

“I,” Derek starts and Stiles looks up Derek’s face still holds the same indifferent expression but something in his voice sounds almost kind. “I value your opinion, even when I think you’re wrong I still think it’s worth something.”

 

Stiles raises his eyebrow. “Even though I’m not pack.”

 

“You’ll never be pack Stiles.” His voice doesn’t sound cruel nor is it meant to be taken that way. “But you are important.” 

 

Stiles coughs, flushing with embarrassment not at Derek’s words more that he’s the one Derek’s saying them to. “I’m the chosen one and all.”

 

“That’s not the only reason.”

 

Stiles is shocked to silence and hell that’s a first. Derek values him; okay maybe Derek trusts him at a stretch. It’s nice to hear.

 

“Erm,” Stiles says nervously “My house is right here so you can have your jacket back.”

 

Derek shakes his head. “Keep it.” And then, is he smiling? Jesus Christ. “It looks better on you.” And then he’s getting into his car and driving off without a word.

 

Stiles watches him go, arms still crossed and hands gripping hard at Derek’s – now his – leather jacket like he thinks it’s going to disappear.

 

It’s only later when he’s climbed through his bedroom window and raided the first aid kit and changed from cold soggy cloths to warm PJs lying in his warm bed ready to get up in five hours for school, he’s still wearing Derek’s jacket trying to savour the warmth and the smell. He’s drifting almost asleep and then he jack-knifes up in his bed.

 

He’s still wearing the leather jacket and he’s unlikely to ever take if off apart from when he’s showering because hello that would ruin the leather. He can’t stop thinking about Derek and what he said; he’s trying to savour his goddamn smell.

 

“Oh boy.” Stiles says but it’s too late he’s already done for.       

**Author's Note:**

> The Author sincerely apologises for her awkward humour and any spelling and grammar mistakes. My main ideas for the story came from a few Buffy episodes (Teacher's Pet, Dracula vs Buffy, Fool For Love and Checkpoint) and Angel episodes (Salvage, Release and Orpheus). I really tried to capture the difficulty of being slayer which Joss does explore over a few episodes because that aspect of the show is one of my favourites. 
> 
> Please don't massacre me for making slight changes to the Prophecy and making Deaton Stiles's watcher even though he isn't British. 
> 
> Your kudos and comments are reassurance that I didn't completely bugger up this AU.


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